Jim's Cat Tale
by StArBarD
Summary: Featuring Cat!Jim. The story in which Sherlock and John turn Jim into a cat, much to his displeasure. I don't know where I'm going with this story. If you thing Jim is cute, and cats are cute, read on!
1. Chapter 1

Jim Moriarty poured himself a glass of milk and knew that it was going to be a rotten day.

For starters, he was evolving a splitting head ache that felt like a massive fissure of trembling earth pouring from just above his right eye to below his left temple.

He took a sip of the frothy soy milk with one hand and gently kneaded his face with the other, hoping that whatever the source of the pain, he could get over it before his ten o clock rendezvous with some German ammunition dealers. Speaking German, for and length of time, annoyed him deeply, and would do nothing for the mood he was cultivating.

One other thing: he'd fallen to sleep cleanly-shaven, and woken up with a thick, thick shadow stretching from just about where his headache ended, to about halfway down his neck. He couldn't believe that his hair had grown that fast. He itched it and rubbed his hand over the forest of stubble, and still tried to disprove its existence, but either way he thought about it, he was going to have to shave it before noon. At noon he had a face-to-face conference with a few potential snipers who could join the upper ranks of his organization, and he wanted to impress.

Last bit of annoyance for the morning that tipped the scales of his mood from sour, to poisonous: His right hand man, Sebastian Moran had the audacity to call in sick…well, wounded. Apparently the man he'd been trying to snipe, had sniped back and now he'd be in the hospital, taking up precious working hours bleeding on the disinfected linoleum.

Jim snorted, and took another sip of milk. He paused, testing the liquid with his tongue and sloshing it around in his mouth. It tasted funny. He picked up the carton and checked the date.

"No, it's still good…." He thought, testing the milk with another small, thoughtful sip. "It must just be me, overthinking again."

He finished his milk with a few, mighty glugs and tossed the cup carelessly into the sink where it rattled against metal and plastic dangerously.

He brushed the crumbs of a small breakfast off his hands, and sighed.

"Shave, teeth, hair…" Jim counted off the things he needed done on his fingers. "…text, car, coffee!"

He stretched, and then stopped. His hands felt strange.

He brought his arms down slowly, and with wonder, gazing in awe and horror at the marvel that was his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Kitty Jim. I'm sorry for those of you out there that hate me right now, but I just think it's the best thing I've ever heard of. Plus it is a fun transition from Catlock to normal things.**

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Black fur had begun to creep down from his arms and was now invading his hands, making its way to the tips of his fingers. It looked like an army of pitch black Mongolians, charging across a bleak, empty field. He stared, and even as he looked strands of hair parted from somewhere hidden beneath his skin and sprouted into long, silky stalks. Already he resembled a hobbit creature.

Jim screamed and tried to scrape away the hair with his nails, but it was almost no use. The sensation of hair growing was similar to the sensation of a bug biting; not painful, but intrusive.

Once Jim was aware that his trying to gouge away the hair wasn't doing much more than hurting him, he risked himself another look.

His hands were practically black, with tufts of fur tickling in between his fingers, and his nails…_his nails!_

His nails had begun their own transformation, becoming long and slender, with an uncomfortable squeezing sensation.

Jim took several deep breaths, aware that whatever was happening to him, panicking was not going to do any more than alleviate his stress.

Suddenly the absurdity of his predicament seemed to land on him with the weight of a planet; his eyes goggled in horror, and his jaw dropped. What _was_ happening to him?

He felt something trickling down his forehead, and instinctively he raised his hand to touch it, and realized, with a cold drop of fear that made his head spin and his milk threaten to reemerge, that his hair was growing into his eyebrows.

He grabbed a fist-full of the fur on his forehead, and, pulling with all his strength plus adrenaline, he yanked it out, shouting a string of intelligible curses as the hair floated to the floor in one, innocuous drifting hairball.

He grabbed two more fistfuls with both hands and tried to pull them out again; only faintly aware that he was emitting a low, feral, growling noise as he did so. One hand tore away a chunk of fur, but the other hand couldn't get a good grip. His fingers felt too short, too stunted.

Jim opened his eyes, which had been screwed shut in concentration and looked at his hand, which had all but finished its grim transformation into a blunt, clubbed-looking object tipped with ivory hooks.

His hand, the fur, the milk. Suddenly his head ache split open, and Jim yowled in agony, as a blooming tunnel of darkness swept him away from the nightmare-reality.


	3. Chapter 3

**Most people think : "****_If I was a cat, I would have a great time, sleeping, eating, and just being free!"_**** But no, If you were a cat you would totally be freaking out. You would be wondering what the heck happened, and how you would become human again. Expectation v.s. reality.**

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Jim opened his eyes, only semi-conscious and spent a few good minutes staring at the leg of his sofa, coming to terms with still being capable of rational thought, after he had clearly proven to himself that he was insane. It was a nice leg on the sofa. The maple wood looked warm, and homey. The dark brown looked almost as black as chocolate and swirled with the light brown wood in divine spirals. The carving was masterful and ornate. Why had he never noticed how nice the sofa was before?

Whatever Jim thought about, he tried very hard not to think about how he had believed he was transforming into a furry creature. He knew he was liable to some psychotic episodes, and he wouldn't put it past himself to be a little bit delusional, but still: there's a big difference between crazy, and hallucinating-you're-morphing-into-a-werewolf-crazy.

Jim tested his neck. It felt fine. His head ache was totally gone.

"I suppose I should get up off the floor and just go about my day as usual." Jim thought, taking one last good look at the leg on the sofa. "Where was I…shave, hair, teeth…"

Jim rolled himself over, stood up to his full height, screamed and lay back down, his heart racing in his chest like a caged bird, flapping it's wings against the bars.

_"Okay, maybe I'm not as okay as I thought I was. There is no way I saw what I thought I saw. I am fine. Fine!" _He screamed at himself silently.

Jim shakily rolled over again, nervous of a repeat and with trembling limbs, stood up on all-fours to his full height: about half of a foot tall.

He swayed, worried that he might faint again, but managed to keep his balance and even take a few breaths without hyperventilating.

"_Okay_, _I'm not fine. Not fine at all. I'm less than a foot tall. I can't stand up on two legs without falling. Frankly I'm having a bit of difficulty standing on four legs, but I think I can manage." _He thought.

He took one shaky step, then another, trying to manage walking with four limbs at the same time. He made his way to the kitchen slowly, after forgetting to use his back legs to walk with twice and sinking down to lie on his stomach, where he'd much rather have stayed.

Long story short: Jim made it to his dishwasher and peered into the shiny metal chrome, polished into a glimmering mirror, and made a sickening choking noise, which might have been another scream if his chest hadn't tightened into an impregnable knot just then.

Shiny yellow eyes stared back at him from a curtain of pitch black fur. He scurried back a few paces, to get a better glimpse of the situation, and realized that the apparition in the reflection scampered back too.

_"Large triangle ears, yellow eyes, six white whiskers, one flicking, whispy black tail…. It can't be."_ Jim waved his right arm in the air, and then his left paw, and to his horror the reflection did the same.

Exhausted with the effort of all the horror he'd faced that day he sat down on his back paws; yes _paws_ there is no denying what they were, and mutely contemplated his existence.

He was a cat.


	4. Chapter 4

**All things considered, Jim is handling being a cat better than I did. Ulp, I mean, would have.**

**Let's play a game: For every review I get tonight, I update immediately afterward. All of the story I have thus far. Deal?**

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Clearly, obviously, evidently, undeniably a cat.

He looked down at his paws; yes his _paws_, and tried to finish wrapping his mind around the concept. He flexed his fingers… or what used to be fingers, and five curved claws extended like five hooked knifes.

He looked back up to the dishwasher, _his_ dishwasher and gaped at the pathetic, forlorn-looking black cat that stared back at him.

"Okay." He said. "I'm a cat. Now what."

Jim toyed with the idea for a moment that he had always been a cat, and that being a consulting criminal had all just been a cat dream, but that still wouldn't explain whose house he was in and why he had no cat memories.

No, he had definitely been a human at some point. The only major issue was why was he a cat now?

This all reminded him of a book he read in junior high about a man who went to sleep a human and woke up as a bug.

"_Look on the bright side."_ He thought. "_I'm not a bug."_

Suddenly Jim had a thought that caused him to chortle in a throaty chuckle that sounded like a cross between a meow and a purr. Now he _really_ couldn't be traced. He could be a criminal mastermind, take stupid risks, even slack off on his untraceable crimes, and _still_ no one would think that a cat could be Moriarty.

How funny would it be to lead Sherlock to his flat, and let him think he'd finally gotten to him, finally outsmarted him, only to find that he was a cat? What would his face look like?

Jim looked at his own face and frowned. His own face was covered in shiny black fur with an elongated muzzle. He reached out and touched his new nose, felt around his new lips, over the pointy white teeth, brushing the new ears that stood on top of his head like two new cones.

Suddenly a thrill of panic wracked him and caused him to reel with nausea; _what if he never changed back? _What would he do if he was never human again? Would anyone miss him? Would anyone come looking? Could anyone figure out what had become of him?

All of these thoughts were pushed into the back of Jim's head when he heard the door to his apartment rattling.

* * *

**Knock knock. Whose there? New Chapter. New Chapter who? I don't know. "..."**


	5. Chapter 5

**When caught in an embarrasing situation there are three people you do ****Not**** want to see. 1. Your mother. 2. Your best friend. 3. Your arch nemisis. ****_Think about_**_ it!_

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He raced out, feeling a bit more inclined to his four paws and mewed at the door, hoping that it was Sebastian, back from the hospital, perhaps with some idea as to what had happened to him, and how to fix it.

To Jim's mingled horror, the doorknob turned to reveal none other than John Watson, the second last person he wanted to see at the moment.

"_What the hell are you doing here!" _He said, but what John heard was "Mow, meow, meeeeow!"

John looked down, and smoothed away the golden hair on his forehead with one large hand. His eyebrows arched, carving wrinkles into his otherwise youthful face.

"God, Sherlock; you were right!"

"Am I ever wrong?" A deep, rumbling baritone echoed from the hallway, chilling Jim to the core and causing his hair to stand on end. Sherlock Holmes way _the_ last person he wanted to see at the moment.

Jim turned and looked at his tail in mortal terror; and his tail, which seemed to have a mind of its own, flicked lazily, as though saying: "Yes, you're a cat. What of it?"

He really did not want Sherlock, his arch nemesis and rival, to see him as a fluffy, little cat. He might die of embarrassment.

"Here kitty, kitty!" John said taking two, titanic, earth-shaking footsteps towards Jim with his arms outstretched.

"Noooo!" Jim said, running through the room, past the discarded suit which he had apparently shrunken out of when he had transformed, and into his bedroom where he thought he could find a quiet place to sit and think for half a second altogether.

He dove beneath the bed and burrowed as far into the blackness as he could.

_"Okay, Sherlock is here and I'm a cat. How did Sherlock find me? Why am I a cat? Are the two related in some way? How could they be?" _

Jim heard two sets of footsteps enter his bedroom and he stopped breathing.

"No use in hiding Jim, we know it's you." Sherlock said.

"_What have you done to me?"_ Jim yowled, but all Sherlock heard was "Yoooooooowel?!"

Suddenly, Jim felt a massive hand seize his ankle, and he realized someone was dragging out from under the bed.

"_I won't go without a fight!"_ Jim thought, whipping around his lithe body and opening his paws to their fullest, extending his new claws and sinking his new teeth into the hands of his unknown captor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Finally! An experiment with practical value! It was worth John's favorite jumper and a few tes kettles to have this result!**

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John swore. "Yeah, it's Jim alright." He tossed the black feline to Sherlock, who caught it and hurriedly shoved it into a pet-carrier that he'd brought with them.

"So does this make us wizards or something? Turning our enemies into animals?" John asked only half-playfully.

"Don't be absurd John, I am a scientist. This is Mad Science at its finest." Sherlock said proudly, giving Jim a little shake.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm a cat, I'm a kitty-cat; meowmeowmeowmowmowmeowmeowmo wmow! There is so much cat-inspiration to be had from the internet!**

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Jim collapsed into the side of the cat carrier, fatigued, confused and furious. Sherlock _did_ do this to him somehow! How could he have been so stupid? How did he let something slip past him?

He tried to calm himself, and found to his disgust that he had begun to absentmindedly lick his paw. He stopped, but began again after a few moments. It really seemed to help with the stress.

The cat carrier swayed and rocked like a ship caught in a tempest as Sherlock left his apartment and carried him into the streets of London.

"_This is a change, being kidnapped instead._" Jim thought as he peered out of the bars of his prison. Sherlock hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them to 221b, to Jim's ever-mounting surprise.

"_Why take me there? What are you playing at Sherly?"_ Jim wondered staring at the tall man from the holes in the side of the plastic prison. His expression, from what Jim could see was totally unreadable.

"_Hey everybody! I demand an explanation!"_ Jim shouted, but all John, Sherlock and the cabbie heard was "Meeeow, meooooow meow meow meow!"

"Hey, is your cat alright back there?" The cabbie asked.

"Oh he's fine," Sherlock said smoothly, with a hint of pleasure. "He just gets excited on car rides."

"Meow!" Jim said, and meant it.


	8. Chapter 8

John stared at his through the whole car trip. Jim could feel his eyes burrowing into his head, after he'd eventually lowered his head to rest on his paws. Jim would turn to meet his gaze, and John would look away, so Jim began to stare at John.

_"What?"_ Jim asked, meowing.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and stole another glance at the consulting criminal.

"_Do I bother you or something?!"_ Jim growled, suddenly hostile.

Sherlock could only vaguely sense the hostility in Jim's meowing, but regardless he rapped on the top of the crate with his knuckles.

"Quiet you."

Jim looked up to him reproachfully. "How could you do this to me Sherlock, I thought we were intellectuals? Equals playing on either side of the great chessboard of life! Now you've turned me into a common house cat! A mangy flea-coated house cat!"

But all Sherlock heard was… well, you know.


	9. Chapter 9

Jim counted the stairs to 221b by how many times the pet-carrier was bumped against Sherlock's knee. Seventeen, by the way.

Once inside, Jim was assaulted by the most wretched chemical smell he had ever encountered. It smelled like lye and chlorine and ammonia had all gone to the gym together and sweated like wild animals. He gagged when he took in a breath to try and tell Sherlock as much.

"Urgh! I'll open a window!" John said stumbling into the flat.

"No John! Moriarty might get out!"

Escape! That was a thought that hadn't even occurred to Jim. In retrospect, it should have, but with all that had been going on, he just hadn't been working at full capacity recently.

"Just leave him in the carrier, he's no use if we're all dead from the… cough, cough…thah…cough, cough, cough… fumes…hack, cough, urgh!" John sputtered, shielding his eyes from the powerful chemical cloud and barreling through the flat to the window, which he opened and stuck his head out gratefully, sucking up the fresh air.

Sherlock dropped Jim onto a small coffee table and stalked away, leaving him peering through the bars, and virtually unguarded.

_"Now's the time!"_ he thought.

Jim tried to fit his paws through the bars of his cage, in order to lift the latch and open the mechanism which was keeping him imprisoned, but his paw wouldn't fit through all the way. It was too wide. He tried the other paw and had the same problem.

He tried sticking his paw out length-wise and he managed to squeeze it out, but he couldn't quite reach the latch. He stretched once, twice, three times; but he just couldn't reach it!

Jim yowled "_This isn't fair Sherlock! You haven't even given me a chance!" _

"Quiet you." Sherlock replied.

_"Make me!" _Jim hissed.

John returned from the window, and had begun to stare at Jim again, but this time Jim glared back, burning him with the heat of his eyes.

"Did you have to go and turn him into a cat? It's unnerving as hell." John complained edging around Jim.

"There are two words you don't hear in mixed company: _unnerving _and _hell._"

John entered the kitchen and left Jim's range of view. Jim huffed and lay down, resting his new, oddly shaped head on his new, soft paws and thinking wretched thoughts.

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**Next Chapter: I haven't finished yet, but I think that more of the cast of Sherlock will make a debut. Namely the only person who would care if her tennants got a cat!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Tease Chapter. But because I'm not evil, I'll do another before I go to bed, 'kay?**

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Jim was forgotten for a short time, while John made tea and Sherlock slipped into his blue dressing gown. He tried three more pitiful attempts to escape by trying to unhook the latch, but evidently cat carriers are not made for cat use at all.

Sherlock came and sat on a couch, and Jim drifted away from his fitful thoughts of being captive, of being demoted into a cat, and of being late for his meetings. He fell asleep fairly easily, all things considered.


	11. Chapter 11

**The # 1 Fan favorite (Non-main) character is, hands down, Mrs Hudson. I personally like Lestrade, and I know someone out there thinks it's Mycroft, but based off of Youtube comments alone, it's no contest.**

****Edit: MY computer just shut down completely, and now I have had to hook my sister's computer up to the internet. As a result I have lost a bit of this story, and, like_ five whole_chapters of a story I was going to publish over the winter break. I only have ch 1 on , so I'm going to post it tonight, but sadly Jim's cat tales is going to be a long time coming. Sincerest apologies, -Kat**

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When he woke up the cage door was wide open. He grinned maliciously thinking delightfully to himself: "_A-ha! That was their first mistake!"_

He peeked his head out first, checking to ensure that the coast was clear. It was.

He sprang from the pet-carrier and raced to the windows, which had been open when he had fallen asleep. John had closed it sometime ago though, and Jim could tell immediately that opening the windows with his new paws was going to be impossible.

Jim swore loudly and with feeling, deciding that if he couldn't escape on his own, he could at least make life for his captors a living hell.

He prowled the sitting room of the flat like a wounded tiger, growling to himself and trying to ignore how daunting the familiar settings of 221b were from so low to the ground. The fireplace alone looked like an enormous, gaping mouth, opening up to swallow him.

He jumped into Sherlock's chair; ignoring how small it made him feel, especially thinking that three short years ago he'd sat in the same place and had filled it nicely, and he sat down.

He whisked his tail back and forth anxiously, taking in the flat at a glance. He noted that not much had changed, outside of the paper mess swelling to conquer the entire desk propped against the wall, and that the area which seemed to vaguely resemble a kitchen looked more like the inside of the Baskerville labs.

"_Baskerville!"_ Jim meowed aloud. So _that's_ how he did it! Reaching back and getting government aid from his big-nosed brother, no doubt! Jim was _sure_ that somewhere in Baskerville they must have _something_ like what had changed him.

Suddenly, the clip-clopping of heavily heeled feet became audible from somewhere below the flat. Jim listened silently; and intently as the noisy shoes crept up the stairs, seventeen noticeable thumps.

When the shoes were right outside the door of the flat, inspiration hit Jim, and he leapt off Sherlock's chair and onto the floor, making a mad dash for the door.

_"It must be the _glorious _Mrs. Hudson!" _he thought marveling at how smoothly running came to him after a few hours as a cat, even though walking had been a challenge before. "_She's so incompetent, she'll set me loose without thinking twice!"_

He came upon the door suddenly, just as a crack was forming between the door and the wall. It was opening; _slowly._

As soon as it as open enough for a cat to slip through, a leg squeezed through the crack, cutting off Jim's only escape.

Jim tried to slip around her leg, but as soon as Mrs. Hudson saw a cat, she kicked it away from the door, rationalizing that Sherlock or John wouldn't want it to get away if they had it for a case.

Jim staggered away from the door as Mrs. Hudson swept him away with her foot, his hopes dashed and his plan thwarted (though where would he go if he was free?) and rage bubbled up inside of him.

"_You idiotic swine! You stupid woman!"_ Jim meowed, full of malice.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson bent over, ignoring the twinge of protest from her hip and picked up the black feline, coddling it against her matronly breast and soothing it softly.

"Good kitty, sweet kitty; I don't suppose Sherlock's set anything out for you, has he?"

Jim's anger evaporated in a flash; there was something about the way Mrs. Hudson was holding him, or maybe talking to him, that calmed him a lot. He only realized later that she was treating him like a cat.

Mrs. Hudson extended one of her manicured talons and traced a line around Jim's neck.

"_Hey, don't!"_ Jim meowed, fearing any hand at his throat, but Mrs. Hudson (who had had her fair share of cats) began scratching Jim under his chin.

And behind his ears.

And on top of his head.

Jim was enjoying the attention, until a dull roar permeated the flat. It was a monotonous, vibrating, unending growl that annoyed him extremely.

"Purr, purr kitty." Mrs. Hudson cooed.

"_Oops!"_ Jim realized that the roaring was coming from his own chest. _He'd been purring!_ To his never ending embarrassment, he'd been purring in her arms. And what's worse; He couldn't seem to stop!

He struggled, trying to push Mrs. Hudson away, but she held on resolutely.

"Boys!" She barked, and the piercing sound of her voice resounded through the flat.

Jim heard movement from upstairs somewhere; a loud crash, a series of thuds and one terse "**OW!**" before a thunderous roll of "bumpbumpbump" signaled the emergence of John Watson.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Hudson?" John shot off the question almost before he'd opened his bleary eyes; and when he did open his eyes, he gathered Jim at a glance and gaped in mute horror.

"I don't suppose you've gotten this poor cat some cat food? Or a litter box for that matter?" Mrs. Hudson said, holding Jim under one arm and placing another fist securely on her hip.

Jim watched the whole scene unfold silently, disbelievingly. He couldn't believe that of all people in the world, the _housekeeper_ was speaking out for his rights.

Well, a cat's rights, but still.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, we should've told you about the cat, but…"

"No 'buts'! I refuse to let this cat turn out like that dog!" Mrs. Hudson snapped.

Jim looked up and asked "What dog?" but all Mrs. Hudson heard was a tremulous "Meow?"

John brushed his hand through his unkempt hair and started feebly "Okay, Kibbles was a big mistake, but you don't understand! This cat is…"

"A living creature!" Mrs. Hudson interrupted. "And he deserves the common decency afforded to every other creature: go to the pet store and get him a food dish, water bowl and litter box this instant young man!"

"_Amen!"_ Jim chimed.

John paled. "I can't leave him alone."

At that moment, Jim heard the door of 221b open, then swing shut dramatically.


	12. Chapter 12

**I've hijacked a school computer. This could work so long as I never have work to do at lunch time. Uh-0h.**

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Sherlock Holmes gathered the scene that had unfolded in the living room of his flat at a glance and quickly deduced, based on the anger etched around the mouth of his landlady, the confusion wrinkling John's brow and the smugness (can a cat look smug?) in the eyes of the feline being swaddled by the care-worn Mrs. Hudson.

"The cat will only be here for a day, I hardly think it'll be necessary to furnish the flat with useless objects." He said, his cold blue eyes narrowing to slits of hatred leveled at Jim.

"I disagree." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Meow." Jim said, only because it felt like the appropriate time to chime in.

"I could… go and get some things." John put in, his eyes pleading with Sherlock to accede to his Landlady's request.

Sherlock glared back, in obvious defiance.

John crooked his head.

Sherlock broke his gaze.

"Very well." He spat. "Quickly."

Jim watched the play between the flat mates with piqued interest. How very curious, they knew each other so well that they didn't even need words to express themselves. It was disgustingly sentimental.


	13. Chapter 13

**Panic now... Not sure how long Ulp!**

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Mrs. Hudson, placated for the time being put Jim down, said a few parting words and left to watch her stories on the telly, leaving Jim in the hands of his captors, unaided.

John and Sherlock looked down on him wearily.

"I'll run to the store and get a few things. I won't be long." John said in a low, anxious tone. As if Jim couldn't hear him.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling him for an hour or so, no need to rush." Sherlock said, matching John's nervousness.

"I still don't like you being alone with him."

Here, Sherlock snorted condescendingly. "Oh, what's he going to do, _scratch me?_"

"Don't tempt me." Jim said, his rage steadily building into a bubbling cauldron of seething hatred.

John looked at him when he meowed, and his gaze lingered for a full moment before carefully catching Sherlock's eye.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hungry, I am. Short, this is.**

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John picked up his wallet from the mantle, moving stiffly like a soldier, and looked one last time around the flat, as though he were afraid to leave, as though he was afraid that Sherlock might not be there when he returned.

Jim watched all of this, his tail responding with more enthusiasm than the rest of his body, which remained as rigid as a stone statue while his snaky tail whipped spastically back and forth on the ground behind him.

Finally, with seventeen plodding footsteps and the creak of the door downstairs, John was gone and he was alone with Sherlock.


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm just subbmitting this all at once to Doc MAnager so I can submit it later...****_Quickly!_**** The computers in the library are ****very**** scarce!**

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Jim turned and looked at the consulting detective, who stood still, looking slightly lost without his friend, and tried to gather himself without losing his composure completely.

Sherlock had always looked down on him, since he _was_ just over six feet tall, and frankly Jim hadn't exactly inherited his father's hulking height as he had expected either; but Jim had found the height gulf manageable when it was less than a foot of difference between him and the eye level of the detective, now, with well over five feet between him, Jim felt as though he was looking up from the bottom of a well at a giant, who kissed the clouds and jumped over mountains.

Maybe that was a _slight_ exaggeration, but really, the height difference was staggering.

Sherlock glared down at him, looking down his nose condescendingly and Jim felt whatever pride he'd managed to cling to get crushed down into the floor, until it was scarcely taller than a flea.

"What do you want?" Sherlock spat.

"_I want to know why you gave me ears and a tail, you twat_!" Jim meowed.


	16. Chapter 16

**To those of you who've waited (patiently) for these chapters, I want you to know how much I really sincerely appreciate it. With all of my shriveled heart. You make my life-blood pump. Sorry for the delay, There's Pert testing going on in the Library. Figures, right?**

* * *

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stalked away, leaving Jim alone in the living room so that he could experiment in the kitchen.

Jim, however, refused to be ignored and followed Sherlock at his heels.

_"Don't you run away from me! Listen to me! Hey! You owe me an explanation!" _Jim yipped, just barely managing to keep from being trodden underfoot when Sherlock turned suddenly.

"Get lost, cat." He said cat so venomously, that Jim wondered for a moment if he even remembered that it as he, Jim Moriarty who was the cat in question, and not some mangy street stray John had adopted. Had he even called him by name since he'd gotten to the flat?

Jim pouted "_And what if I don't? What'll you do?_"

Sherlock ignored Jim and stalked over to the kitchen table, turning on a Bunsen burner with a subtle click.

Jim gazed at the enormously tall kitchen table, remembering every cat video Sebastian had ever sent him via chain e-mail. He wondered if he too could scale bookshelves and jump twice his own height.

He crouched down low, preparing himself for either disappointment or triumph. The mechanics of those videos were remarkably simple; all it required was a simple push, and enough control to make the landing.

The longer he remained crouched, the less he liked his idea of jumping onto Sherlock's work bench, but eventually he called himself a coward and kicked off the ground with all of his might.

To his utter shock and amazement he soared, up and over the table and landed on all fours just on the edge of a veritable forest of beakers.

Beaming with the magnificent feat of aerodynamics, Jim forgot momentarily what he'd leapt onto the counter for, which was just enough time for Sherlock to sweep him off the edge with one broad gesture of his suitably protected arm.


	17. Chapter 17

Jim snapped his body around and tried to cling to Sherlock's arm with his claws, but he was too late and with a few futile flailing motions he plummeted off the table.

To Jim's never ending amazement, his body automatically twisted itself in mid-air and he landed heavily on his paws.

He stood still, shocked and amazed at his new found abilities.

_"That was awesome!"_ He cried hopping slightly. "_I wonder if that happens every time?"_

Jim raced over to the couch in the sitting area, and with a running start he scaled it with ease, landing on the cushions with nothing more than a small groan of complaint from the abused springs. He climbed onto the back of the sofa and, leaning dangerously, he fell off.

He landed heavily on his paws again and laughed in delight.

"_Amazing! Sherlock are you watching this?" _

Sherlock added some crystals to a dull blue solution and swirled them together like one might swirl a martini.

Jim crinkled his nose. "_Fine! I don't need you anyway!"_


	18. Chapter 18

**Soon I will start developing a plot. Soon. But for right now, Jim's just getting used to being a cat. ****_Soon my pretties...soon..._**

* * *

Jim huffily re-examined the flat, wondering what he could do to make life miserable for Sherlock at the immediate moment.

His eyes lighted on John's laptop, which had been left innocuously on his chair.

Jim jumped up onto the chair, giddy with the wondrous sprightliness of his new body, and sniffed the laptop, searching for a way to open it.

Jim pulled his head back and snorted.

Jim leaned forward and sniffed.

Jim made a kitty-surprised face. The laptop smelled like John, he could almost picture the man sitting with it and typing. Beyond that, Jim could also smell Sherlock. He'd never been aware that Sherlock even _had_ a scent, but now that he had cat senses he could smell them plain as day!

Jim shook his head; he'd had enough surprises for one day, though he supposed getting a new body was license for a myriad of new and exciting discoveries.


	19. Chapter 19

**Yes, I used my cat to type these sentences. What of it?**

* * *

Jim nudged the clasp on the laptop with his nose, sharply groaning when the soft, pink flesh was pressed against bone. But the clasp opened, and he managed to slip his paws inside.

The laptop was heavy, and it felt like it was crushing his paws, but he pushed with all of his cat-strength and managed to lift the monitor to a fair ninety degree angle.

He stepped on the power button and waited.

John's computer was passcode-protected, but it only took him a few seconds to break into it completely.

Jim pulled up the Microsoft Word document and began typing.

"Wssqshat have you done to me?"

At first his balance was unsteady and he tripped over keys, but after a few moments he got the hang of typing with paws. He typed slowly, one paw pressing one key at a time. It reminded him of when he was just learning to type and he needed to hen-peck each key after hunting and searching for it. If he wasn't careful he would press two keys at one and have to delete the letters, but with a lot of attention he managed to type a few more lines.

"Why asa casat?"

"_No, no, no!"_ Jim thought "_Delete, delete, delete!"_

"Why a cat? Was it on puirpose? To humiliate me?"

"You could have killed me in my apartment, why take me to 221bh?"

"What havfe you done to mer?"

Jim looked over his progress grimly, but decided that a few errors would have to be acceptable, it was the best he could do with cat paws for hands.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sherlock is not a dog person, Sherlock is not a cat person, Sherlock is not a fish person, Sherlock is not a people person. He just doesn't like...anything. But crime. ****_Meoooooowowowow!_**

* * *

Now all he needed to do was to get Sherlock to see his questions. He looked up to Sherlock's lean figure bent over the steaming, bubbling gases.

"_Meooooooowowow Moooooooweeeeoowwww!" _Jim howled.

"Shut up!" Sherlock barked.

_"Rowrowrowrowraaaaaaaaw."_ Jim said, making the most annoying noise he knew.

"Be quiet!" Sherlock shouted.

"_Romromromromrom!" _Jim said, beginning to laugh.

Sherlock threw down his chemical equipment and stormed over to where Jim sat on John's chair, laptop opened for his viewing pleasure. His footsteps were like hammer beats against the floor, heavy and dangerous.

Jim looked from the laptop to Sherlock, excited. He still had some control over the things that were happening to him.

Sherlock, a vein throbbing boldly against hi ivory forehead, scooped Jim up with one arm, holding him away from his body, like one might hold something disgusting.

"I've had just about enough of you!" He said tossing the feline into his bedroom and closing the door.

Jim landed heavily on his paws, unharmed, but shaken. He listened to Sherlock march away, mumbling under his breath "Stupid cat."


	21. Chapter 21

Jim sat down wearily. It had been a trying few hours since he'd woken up. He was finally coming to terms with not being human anymore, but the transition from human to cat was killing him.

As a human, Sherlock would at least pay attention to him. As a cat, he couldn't manage to say two words together at him.

"Stupid cat." the words echoed inside of Jim's head, like a scream in an empty room. For some reason they _hurt._

He knew he shouldn't have taken it personally, he was far, far from stupid, and he was only just beginning to be a cat, but it didn't stop the twinge of embarrassment from stabbing in his chest.

"So that's what he thinks of me." Jim told himself glumly. "When I was human I was _elegant,_ now that he's beaten me down it's 'stupid cat'."


	22. Chapter 22

**As fast as I can... I WILL UPDATE!**

* * *

Jim lay down on Sherlock's bed. He wanted to be human again. He wanted a cup of coffee, not to mention the ability to eat chocolate. He'd missed his work appointments, but he still wanted to make them somehow. It wouldn't even matter if he had to speak German.

Jim lay down thinking about all the things he loved being human. He loved the height for sure, he loved the power being human gave him over other humans, he loved getting dressed in the mornings, he loved powdered donuts, he loved texting on his phone.

If Jim were capable, this would be the point in the narrative where tears build up in his eyes. However, he was not capable of showing such strong emotion, thus he was inwardly miserable for several minutes.


	23. Chapter 23

**You would too. You know you would. Don't flame me.**

* * *

He thought about his suit lying on the floor of his apartment, his nice, black, Westwood suit that he loved above all others. It was just lying there, rumpled, and untouched, gathering dust.

Suddenly a thought hit him with all the subtlety of a garbage truck. He was lying on Sherlock Holmes' bed _naked!_ It was like some horrible, wonderful dream!

Jim sprang to his feet…_paws_ and leapt off the bed, as though there was a current of electricity looped through the blankets shocking him.

He landed on the floor and paused, looking back up to the top of the bed with wonder, then curiosity, and then, finally, mischief.

He jumped back up, stretched is back into a delicate arch, and slide across the bed on his belly, taking up as much room as was possible.

When he was stretched to full height he began to roll over onto his sides, and then onto his back.

"I'm on your bed Sherlock!" He cried. No reply was issued from the kitchen.

On his back, paws curled inward and soft fur on his belly fully exposed; Jim began to wriggle and squirm, bunching up the covers around him until he had a nice nest prepared from the raised wrinkles in the sheet.

"I'm on your bed, and I'm having a great time!" He cried out, returning himself to the up-right position.

Sherlock was silent, except for the occasional clinking of the glass tubes and beakers together.

Jim sighed, giving up on Sherlock for the moment and turned around in his little warm nest, with its soft edges, and plush middle.

Not satisfied with turning once, he turned twice.

And then a third time.

And then he lay down against the wall of the nest he most favored, bringing his paws close to his chest, so they wouldn't get cold, and wrapping his tail around his body for security. It was freezing in Sherlock's room, and his meager fur coat didn't seem to help him stay warm at all.


	24. Chapter 24

**Until season 3 I will hold my breath... starting...NOW!**

* * *

He thought about his suit lying on the floor of his apartment, his nice, black, Westwood suit that he loved above all others. It was just lying there, rumpled, and untouched, gathering dust.

Suddenly a thought hit him with all the subtlety of a garbage truck. He was lying on Sherlock Holmes' bed _naked!_ It was like some horrible, wonderful dream!

Jim sprang to his feet…_paws_ and leapt off the bed, as though there was a current of electricity looped through the blankets shocking him.

He landed on the floor and paused, looking back up to the top of the bed with wonder, then curiosity, and then, finally, mischief.

He jumped back up, stretched is back into a delicate arch, and slide across the bed on his belly, taking up as much room as was possible.

When he was stretched to full height he began to roll over onto his sides, and then onto his back.

"I'm on your bed Sherlock!" He cried. No reply was issued from the kitchen.

On his back, paws curled inward and soft fur on his belly fully exposed; Jim began to wriggle and squirm, bunching up the covers around him until he had a nice nest prepared from the raised wrinkles in the sheet.

"I'm on your bed, and I'm having a great time!" He cried out, returning himself to the up-right position.

Sherlock was silent, except for the occasional clinking of the glass tubes and beakers together.

Jim sighed, giving up on Sherlock for the moment and turned around in his little warm nest, with its soft edges, and plush middle.

Not satisfied with turning once, he turned twice.

And then a third time.

And then he lay down against the wall of the nest he most favored, bringing his paws close to his chest, so they wouldn't get cold, and wrapping his tail around his body for security. It was freezing in Sherlock's room, and his meager fur coat didn't seem to help him stay warm at all.


	25. Chapter 25

He shivered, feeling more isolated than he had ever felt before.

Well, there was that one time…

"No, this is much worse." He reminded himself peering into the darkness of Sherlock's room.

"Because…who would think of finding me here?"

This was once again, a good opportunity to cry, but Jim was so exhausted he didn't take it.

He promptly fell asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

The door to 221b slammed open, and then shut, waking Jim with its surprising volume. He lifted his head, and made a "prrrrrow?" sound, which disgusted him.

"Oh yes," he reminded himself upon awaking from his slumber. "You're still a cat."

"Sherlock, I'm back." It was John. Typical. Jim began to seethe with anger, how dare _John_ interrupt his sleep. _Nobody_ interrupts his sleep!

"Good, you're back." Sherlock said to John, which only made Jim angrier.

"_Oh, you'll talk to John and not me? I see how it is!"_ Jim raged inside, furious beyond reason.

"Where's Jim?" John asked.

"_I'm in here!" _Jim fumed. "_If anyone cares?"_

"He's in my room." Sherlock calmly replied.

"What?" John paused. "Why is he in your room?"

"He was annoying me." Sherlock responded.


	27. Chapter 27

**Catatack!**

* * *

Jim listened to the dialogue in the dark room, becoming increasingly angry at his situation. If only he were human, because then he'd show them! He'd blow up the flat or set snipers on them, or poison their water supply, or maybe he'd target their precious queen again. That really got them moving the first time.

He screamed in frustration, and then screamed again when his angry yell sounded like a ravenous yowl.

He heard John's shuffling footsteps outside Sherlock's door and prepared himself. When he was blinded by a dazzling light that poured in from the rest of the flat, he leapt into the unknown and sunk his claws into the first thing he crashed into.


	28. Chapter 28

**Facorite character: John**

**Character who gets hurt the most in my stories: John**

**Why?**

* * *

"Yeeouch!" John cried, kicking his leg back and forth wildly, swinging Jim like a ragdoll before he lost his grip, and went flying off into the darkness, screaming and flailing like a possessed cat.

"What?" Sherlock asked hurrying across the flat, stepping over the shopping bags John had put down with ease.

"He got my leg. Shhhhhht that hurt!" John breathed through his teeth raggedly, clutching his leg with one hand and slamming Sherlock's door shut with the other.

He collapsed backward against the arm of a chair and pulled back his jeans to survey the damage.

It was worse than he thought: blood trickled down his leg like a spring trickling down a mountainside. Three gashes were particularly deep, while the other two puncture marks barely broke skin.


	29. Chapter 29

**I have blood in my socks sometimes. I do not have a criminal cat though. I wish the two were mutually exclusive.**

* * *

"Impressive that he managed to claw through your jeans." Sherlock observed, secretly fuming himself.

"Yeah. He's _amazing." _John said sarcastically, inhaling sharply when he went to flex the muscles around the cuts.

"You'll want to get that cleaned; cats carry all sorts of _diseases_ under their nails."

Jim emitted a low, horribly frightening growl from just behind the door.

John and Sherlock looked at each other, uncertain of their next course of action. Finally John broke the uncertainty.

"I'm getting blood in my socks; I'll go and wash up."

"And I'll set up the cat things for Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said.

What he did _not_ mention was that he would not be putting anything in them, but Jim could tell by his tone of voice.

Jim was being _punished_ for being a _bad little kitty._ Well that was just fine by him! Let them try to teach him a lesson! Ripping into John had been fun! He could do it again! He would do it again! Just wait!


	30. Chapter 30

**What is the most horrible thing you can do to a cat/enemy? Answer:**

* * *

Sherlock leaned against the door; thinking how now would be a perfect time for a cigarette. He couldn't find his secret stash, but the nicotine patches were glaring at him on the table in the sitting room with a lurid flash of the painted cardboard box.

"Dangerous move, wouldn't you agree?" Sherlock asked Jim from the other side of the door.

"_Dangerous? What're you going to do? Kick me?_" Jim thought haughtily.

"You know, I know London fairly well. I've been here for quite a few years. Very little of the city's geography is foreign to me."

_"Where are you going with this Shirley Temple?"_ Jim startled himself with his own coarseness, but then again, Sherlock couldn't hear him anyway, and didn't he deserve it?

"For instance, at this very moment I can think of almost two dozen veterinary clinics that don't require proof of ownership to perform operations on pets."

Jim's blood ran cold and heckles raised on the back of his neck.

"_You wouldn't dare…"_ his teeth chattered at the thought, and he had to sit down.

"Think very carefully about your position before you act from now on." Sherlock said, imagining the horror on Jim's face and basking in the glowing thought of having finally bested the Napoleon of Crime.


	31. Chapter 31

**Hopeless, forlorn, frightened: all words Jim doesn't know the meaning of! Don't worry, this stage doesn't last long.**

* * *

Jim sank to the ground, unable to move, or even to stand. His legs had turned to jelly. He finally understood his position crystal clear.

He was a prisoner, he was the kidnap victim, and he was completely under their power.

And he hated them for it.

Jim gnashed his pointed teeth and gave a moan of horror, but resigned himself to his fate. He would not be able to fight Sherlock and John for freedom. That could only end badly.

The only thing to do was to wait and figure out how Sherlock had turned him into a cat, and then just change himself back. Simple, really.


	32. Chapter 32

**When Jim loses heart...What do we do?**

* * *

A few minutes later John _carefully_ opened the door to Sherlock's room and Jim crawled out dejectedly. He had been bested, and he wasn't happy about it.

John stepped back a few feet, making sure to keep a considerable distance between the consulting cat and himself at all times, but Jim was through being angry at John. It hadn't accomplished very much in the first place.

He was through being angry at anything. In fact, he was almost depressed. He hopped onto the couch and lay down, feeling thoroughly wretched.

John tip-toed around the dejected cat and picked up his laptop, noting the flashing light to indicate that it had been used.

"Sherlock." He thought, waking the computer back up and checking to see if his flat mate had been rifling through his files. Again.

Instead he stumbled onto Jim's Word Document.


	33. Chapter 33

Noiselessly, he stole off into the kitchen and showed Sherlock his computer. Sherlock absorbed each of Jim's questions, shrugged and turned back to his chemical project.

"Are you going to tell him?" John whispered.

In the sitting room, Jim perked his ears. His new, sensitive hearing could pick up every whispered syllable.

"No." Sherlock answered.

"Why not?"

"He might try to stop us."

"Stop…" John contemplated this for a moment. "Sherlock… he's a cat."

"That didn't seem to bother him when he was tearing into your leg." Sherlock answered urbanely.


	34. Chapter 34

John sighed, but ultimately gave up. Clearly the situation was far, far, far outside his normal range of understanding. Let the two geniuses duke it out. He was going to make a quick cuppa.

Jim had returned to lying on the couch, pretending he was road-kill. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Sherlock had _denied_ him even the common decency of an explanation. He could be their cat forever, or at least until they decide to kick him out or put him to sleep, or some other kind of ironic justice.

After a few minutes, Jim was bored with being depressed. He could return to it later, at the moment he figured out what he could pro-actively do.

If Sherlock and John were worried about him stopping their plans, he would just stop them anyway.

Somehow.

* * *

**That's right Jim, cheer up! Do something amusing so I don't feel like I'm writing in circles.**


	35. Chapter 35

**What is a nasty name in cat-lingo? Belarus. Don't tell my mother I typed that online.**

* * *

John slouched into his chair with his crumpled copy of the morning's paper. On occasion he felt the need to relax, and do something normal when the eccentric nature of his flat mate or his work became too staggering to bear.

Jim watched John begin to loosen his muscles and ease into the shape of the chair.

_"Not if I have anything to say about it!"_ he meowed, and with a running leap he bound over John's legs and through the newspaper.

John cried out in surprise and flailed his limbs, trying to uncover the cat tangled in his newspaper. When he was done, Jim had managed to make him throw several pages onto the floor and had torn gaping holes in the rest. He lay down on John's lap snickering quietly.

"No." John said fiercely, and with one deft motion he scooped up the lazing feline and tossed it onto the floor of the flat.

Jim landed on his paws and ran back a few feet, marveling in his handiwork as John collected his discarded newspaper shreds and tried to piece them back together.

Suddenly Jim sensed a ripple of movement from behind him; he bolted across the room just in time as a rolled up section of newspaper made a swing for his head.

"Bad cat!" Sherlock said holding his paper like a police baton.

Jim found himself in the safety of a corner under a table and decided to hazard a deep, throaty hiss.

"Shut up!"

Jim called Sherlock a nasty name.

"Same to you." He said.


	36. Chapter 36

**No. To those of you who reveiwed with this question: Jim will not use the litter box. He refuses.**

* * *

Suddenly, Jim realized that he hadn't been to the bathroom since he was human. It didn't seem like a long time, but the stretching sensation in his lower stomach indicated it was longer than he'd thought.

He ran past Sherlock, dodging the newspaper and searched up and down desperately for some indicator of a bathroom.

He considered, for a moment, relieving himself on some discarded laundry he spotted lying perfectly within reach on the floor, but he immediately rolled his eyes and abandoned this insane notion.

He wasn't an _animal._

The litter box was another idea, but he turned his nose up to it as well. He was well above 'doing his business' where Sherlock and John could see. They had stripped him of his suits, his power, his speech and his opposable thumbs, but they could not tear him from this: his last shred of dignity.

He found a bathroom in the flat and managed (with no little difficulty) to use the toilet mostly normally. It gave him great satisfaction to hone his new found cat abilities, and he was finding that what he could accomplish as a cat was very similar to what he could accomplish as a human.

He flushed the toilet, nearly slipping into the swirling, frothing water (wouldn't that have been a thought!) and sauntered back into the kitchen.


	37. Chapter 37

**Teaser chapter gonna tease... Hey, Jim better do something soon or every one is going to get bored. :) Evil Ideas.**

* * *

Now that he was relieved, he felt empty and hollow inside. He was hungry, and beyond that a bit thirsty. The one, he could ignore fairly well, but the other tore at him with a cruel, mocking bony finger.

"_Water!"_ He gasped. "_I need water."_

John looked up from his shredded paper, which he was reading gingerly. "Sherlock, Jim wants something."

"Get him something." Sherlock grunted from the kitchen.

"It's your turn." John insisted.

"_Don't trouble yourselves."_ Jim sneered. "_I'll get it myself!"_


	38. Chapter 38

**Writing makes me thirsty. Drinking makes me sleepy. Sleeping makes me want to write. Somehow none of these three things gets done in the meanwhile.**

* * *

Jim stood at the edge of the kitchen counter just below the sink, his tail whipping madly. With one swift bound, he flew up and over the counter, nearly crashing into a precariously leaning tower of dirty dishes.

He settled himself on the edge of the counter carefully, coordinating his four new limbs deftly, scared that at any second he would slip, and not be sure how to right himself and go plummeting to the floor. Even though he was pretty sure he knew how to land on all four paws, he didn't want to fall off. Falling is never a pleasant sensation.

Jim leaned over the kitchen sink, making sure he did not fall into the smooth, curved metal frame and reached majestically with his paw, making general swipes at the faucet of the sink.

He managed, by pure chance, to turn the faucet a fraction of an inch, just enough to start a thin trickle of water flowing through the flat's ancient pipes.

He leaned back on the sink, very pleased with himself, then hopped into the sink amidst all of the dishes, knives and various chemicals, placing his head directly in the stream and lapping the water from the stream with his surprisingly agile tongue.

Once his thirst was quenched he nimbly climbed out of the sink, leaving the water just in case he should have need of another drink.

* * *

**Well? Who would have honestly thought of that? What would you have done were you a cat?**


	39. Chapter 39

**Jim is to changable. It makes the story hard to gauge. Is that a word? Gague? Maybe I'm spelling it wrong.**

* * *

He was still hungry, but figured that he could try and hunt up Sherlock's flat for food later. At the moment, the detective was sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, concentrating on something.

"_If you're not busy…"_ Jim sighed slinking up to Sherlock's black, shiny shoes. "_Won't you please tell me what you're up to?"_

Sherlock shifted his feet lightly, by no means acknowledging Jim's presence, but displacing him all the same.

"_Sherlock!"_ Jim wailed. _"Kick me, beat me, lock me up; I don't care! But for God's sake! Don't ignore me!"_

Sherlock blinked slowly, the noisy meowing subtly disrupting his thoughts.

_"Don't treat me like garbage; only bothering to notice me when I'm interesting! You did this to me! Undo it! Sherlock, look at me!"_

"What are you going on about now?" Sherlock snapped angrily.

"_Yes, fine. Be mad. Just please don't treat me like… Don't treat me like your cat Sherlock! I'll go mad!"_

"John…" Sherlock began, hoping John could do something about Jim's incessant meowing.

"No." John had known Sherlock long enough to know when he was trying to shift an unpleasant job on him.

"He's annoying me." Sherlock pressed.

_"Look at me! Talk to __**me**__!"_ Jim yowled, throwing himself across the floor. It was all so terribly unfair, he couldn't believe it. Now would also have been a good time to shed tears of frustration, but Jim was a bit too busy trying to rub himself against Sherlock's pant legs.

He didn't understand why, but he felt that if he did this, Sherlock would somehow belong to him.

Sherlock kicked him lightly in the face. It didn't hurt anything but his pride, which really couldn't take any more wounding.

Sherlock received a text.


	40. Chapter 40

**How to make action happen: Introduce character with potential for plot revelations.**

**Check.**

**I have the best readers in the world. You guys are hilarious. That's why I know you won't be mad if there's a long period between updates coming soon, right? I sort of turned my flash drive full of stories into a teacher who won't be giving it back till March 1st, and my computers at home are not compatable with the internet anymore. (Why? I don't know. The only person who could help me has been turned into a cat)**

* * *

"Oh, delightful." He said with measured sarcasm.

"What?"

"Family visit." Sherlock said pocketing his phone.

"_Mycroft?"_ Jim asked.

"Should I put Jim away?" John asked.

Jim's ears perked. Why would Mycroft coming over be a reason for him to leave? It wasn't as if the eldest Holmes knew about his condition. There was no recognizable way to _deduce _him being turned into a cat, was there?

"No, don't bother. The cat wants answers anyhow." Sherlock said, folding his arms.

Jim glared at him sourly. "_Just in case I never get the chance..."_ He said slowly, so as not to be misunderstood. "_I really hate you right now."_

"Hmmmm…" Sherlock groaned, then slipped into his mind palace for a quick saunter around, to see what he had missed and to gather tools for his arsenal.


	41. Tea

**This could go anywhere in the story. I'm just putting it here. :) Real authors craft their work with care.**

* * *

John stood at the foot of the stairs with his cup of tea letting the rich aroma waft into his face, spreading its warm arms through his hair. It was the kind of calming, warm embrace that only came from a well-deserved cuppa.

He looked over the rim of his cup and saw Jim. Sitting at his feet. Staring at him with his shiny, shiny yellow eyes. Flicking his lithe, black tail mischievously.

"Sherlock." John called to his flat mate.

"What?" Sherlock replied curtly.

"He's staring at me."

"What does he want?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know."

"Meow." cut in Jim.

"I think he wants some tea."

"Then get him some tea John." Sherlock spat.

"Do cat's drink tea?" John asked.

"Meow." replied Jim, which may have meant something along the lines of "_This cat does."_

John poured his tea cup into the new water bowl, and then paused when he realized he'd just given his tea, _his tea_, to a cat.

With a defeated shrug he continued pouring. Jim ran over to the shallow blue dish and began lapping up the steaming amber liquid.

Suddenly he stopped, letting his pink tongue hang languidly from his mouth in disgust, and stared at John ruefully.

"What!" John exclaimed. "Too hot?"

Jim continued to stare.

"Oh, perhaps I should tell you Jim takes sugar in his tea. Three, to be precise." Sherlock mused, fingers steepled.

John looked down at the feline, who nodded in the affirmative.

"You have got to be kidding me!"


	42. Chapter 41

**What to do while waiting for a visit...? How about bother a freind? Well, when I say friend...**

* * *

Jim decided to wait anxiously for Mycroft's arrival. It gave him something to do. He lounged on the sofa for a minute, tried to lie down in a number of different ways, and then decided he'd rather see what John was doing.

He crept behind John's chair and, using his new found agility tried to spring up onto the back of the chair, but it proved to be just too high for him. He managed to grab onto the top with his claws and hang there, his upper torso hanging over John's head, his legs and tail limply dangling over empty air.

He tried to pull himself all the way up, since the pressure on his stomach was making it hard to breathe, but found if he tried to move, his claws would unlatch themselves from the upholstery, and he would fall head first into John.

Luckily he didn't have to face this dilemma long, as John heard him clawing at his chair, had darted up, tossing his shredded newspaper to the floor, had instantly assessed the situation, and had decided to scoop Jim up off his chair and toss him back to the floor.

Jim landed heavily on his four paws, but he was bored before he hit the ground.


	43. Chapter 43

**I'm BACK! I've got my drive back and now the fanfictions will never end! Woo hoo!**

* * *

Jim licked his paw. Yes, it had certainly turned out to be a rotten day. That morning he had been a busy, successful, entrepreneur in the rare field of crime and all things criminal; he might as well just come out and say that morning he'd been human.

He strained his mind to try and remember the ending to the book he'd read in school about the man being turned into a bug, but as hard as he tried, he could only remember that the man had died. Nothing else.

He rolled over and lay on his side, pressed against the hard wooden floor.

"_I don't want to die as a cat_!" he yowled.

"Shut up!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"_No_!" Jim meowed back fiercely.

"Maybe he's hungry." John offered in the way of a compromise.

"Tough." Sherlock said sinking back into his deep thought.

"_You're so inconsiderate_!" Jim snapped, annoyed at being repeatedly ignored.

John looked to his flat mate blankly, gauging the likelihood of any action. After a few seconds of nothing he looked to Jim.

"_What_?" Jim snarled.

John sighed, put down his paper, lifted himself from his chair with great difficulty and walked into the kitchen.

He turned off the sink with a flick of his wrist, grabbed the new bowl from the bag, tore into the cat food with one swift wrenching motion and hurriedly scooped a bit of food into the bowl. When he was done with this grotesque dance he dropped the bowl carelessly to the floor.

Jim watched him curiously, not speaking for fear of inciting a wrath, not moving for fear of drawing attention to himself. When the bowl hit the floor he crept forward curiously.

He sniffed the contents of the bowl curiously while John kindly filled up a separate bowl with cool, clean water. With a mingled horror he looked up to John in disgust.

As John was placing the water on the floor, he caught Jim's eyes.

"What?" he asked.

Jim looked forlornly at the cat food that had been place in front of him.

"You're a cat…its cat food…I don't know, work with it!" John exclaimed exasperated. Jim screwed up his nose, but did not touch the cat food. He reluctantly drank some of the water.


	44. Chapter 44

The downstairs door to 221b swung open importantly, and then shut with a brisk snap. Jim didn't need to hear the pained creaking of the floorboards to know who had arrived.

The staircase creaked with relief as Mycroft Holmes briskly trotted, with some little importance, into the flat swinging his umbrella dangerously. Any notion that Jim had of trying to rush his way out, as he tried with Mrs. Hudson dried up when he saw that pendulum-like swinging of the sharp metal tip snaking up and down, and imagined it digging into his ribs.

It sickened him.

"Evening, Sherlock." Mycroft said; addressing who would be the focus of his conversation first.

"John." He added as an afterthought.

John, who was used to it by now, nodded.

Jim, by this point had run out of patience for being ignored, and he meowed prominently.

"Oh." Mycroft feigned interest to hide his disgust. "You've gotten a pest—I mean pet."

Jim, shocked beyond words, thought twice about sinking his claws into the smug Holmes' expensive trousers.

"Ignore him." Sherlock said. Jim imagined a dagger tearing into his heart, and Sherlock wrenching it around with a sickening twist. "What have you found?"


	45. Chapter 45

**Sorry! I misplaced this chapter! I didn't even notice! Hopefully the story will make sense now!**

* * *

Mycroft extended the file he held tucked under his arm to his younger brother, who grabbed it eagerly and began tearing out papers and flinging them across the couch. Jim slunk over noiselessly, craning his neck to catch the slightest glimpse of the papers.

We've found numerous journals and what appear to be planners; however they all seem to be encoded. We have several cryptographers working at it now, however besides the rudimentary codes that we've found before; the pigpen, Caesar, and grid code you've seen before; much of the writing appears to be totally indiscernible.

"Hah," Sherlock snorted gazing steadfastly on one singular sheet of yellow notepaper. "We'll see about that."

Jim stared at Sherlock staring at the paper, then; as though he were in a daze he turned his attention to the yellow paper. The familiar yellow paper.

The extremely familiar yellow paper.

The extremely familiar yellow paper with his handwriting on it that came from his desk inside his apartment.

He meowed in surprise and leapt up onto the couch to survey the damage. To his horror, most of the contents of his precious desk had been emptied onto the little divan in untidy piles.

"Down pest!" Mycroft swept Jim away with a stern arm and fixed him with an even sterner glare.

"_You bastards! You ruddy, bloody bastards! I ought to skewer you to a flag pole you-!"_ Jim hissed, and bounded back and forth furiously, his fur prickling with a static-like intensity as his full rage bubbled into words which were translated into meows.

"Ugh, it's rabid." Mycroft sneered. "Won't you please do something about that animal?"

Jim took a tentative swipe at Mycroft as the elder Holmes attempted to nudge him away with the toe of his shiny, shiny black shoe. Jim could smell the bitter chemicals used to shine it into its unnatural gleam as clearly as if he had been pushed, head-first into a vat of them. His heightened cat-senses gave him amazing insight to the world of smells. It made him sick, and furious.


	46. Chapter 46

Sherlock pinned him to the floor with a warning glare, a throwback to his hushed threat earlier, but Jim was beyond caring.

If you messed with his organization, that was one thing, if you messed with him, that was one thing_; but messing up his work_, that was a totally different thing.

He lived for the work. He needed it. The contents of his desk were the encrypted plans for the next two years of contracts. Without those crucial documents, he would be forced to gather up other jobs, searching desperately for a way to allay the boredom.

Now he leapt onto Mycroft, teeth bared and snarling. They could take his humanity, maybe; but they would take away his distractions only if they could pry it from beneath his claws.


	47. Oops, misplaced chapter

**Here's another misplaced chapter from approximately the same area. Geez, only eighty or so chapters, I was bound to make a mistake some time?**

* * *

John planted a well-aimed kick which caught Jim across the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. Jim made a whimpering sound as John scooped him up into a cradle-hold and carried him gingerly, as though afraid of shaking him like a can of pop and inciting another explosion, into Sherlock's dark cold room for another period of interment.

Jim lay limply in his arms, not willing to try and fight anymore, not wanting to be touched for fear of being hurt. They had taken all that he had, all that he was, and it was beginning to dawn on him that they were the winners of the fight. They were larger, stronger, and craftier and they had out-maneuvered him.

If he'd been a human, he might have sarcastically congratulated them.

As it was, John placed Jim on the ground, where he sank from his feet (which he'd instinctively landed on) to the hard, cold floor.


	48. Chapter 47

Jim looked under the door, towards the light that seeped in beneath the crack. He could see someone moving around, and through the wood a muffled conversation became apparent to his cat ears.

"I must know: where is he? It's not likely that he would just give us these papers, unless there was something amiss." Mycroft said.

"Don't worry." Sherlock assured him absently.

"Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Why must you always assume the worst, brother mine?"

"How often am I wrong?"

"Ha ha ha." Sherlock said mirthlessly.

There was a pregnant pause, broken only by John clearing his throat.

"Um, ah, this code looks interesting. It looks like a bunch of little dancing men." He stammered cautiously.

"Letter substitution; don't bother with the trivialities John." Sherlock said curtly. Jim thought he could sense a small air of indignation from John, who kept silent.


	49. Chapter 48

Mycroft rapped on the floor with his umbrella. The uneven tempo and loud noise began to gnaw at Jim's already fragile nerves.

"I trust you explicitly in matters such as these, Sherlock..." He began.

"But." Sherlock interjected with anticipation.

"But I want to be kept informed." Mycroft's voice took on what sounded like a tender note, and if Jim had not known Mycroft as well as he did, he might almost be inclined to swear by it. "I can't help you if you don't let me in."

"Cute." Sherlock said with measured sarcasm.

"Oh, very well then." Mycroft said, frustration finally bleeding into his tone. "If the codes don't keep you busy, return to the apartment by seven o clock—not five minutes later, mind you—there's something you need to see."

"I thought you'd never ask." Sherlock purred.

Here was another poignant pause, in which Jim imagined Mycroft must have turned his attention to the poor, unappreciated John.

"Be sure he keeps out of trouble." He said aloud_. Out of the mortuary_ was the implied sentiment.

"You can count on me." John said in a somewhat rehearsed tone.

"I have often said so." Mycroft tapped his umbrella briskly, Morse code for the letter A, and Jim listened to the creaking of his leather shoes as they vanished into the depths of the flat and out into the street.

"First I've heard about it." John said.

Sherlock did not respond. The conversation died right then and there, which was fine for Jim since he was beyond listening.

He was thinking. His favorite pastime.


	50. Chapter 49

Some of his codes were made out of habit from the codes he used to practice as a young kid, and were therefore simple and easy to crack, but one of his codes, the one that made up most of his recent plans was simple the first letter of a word, an assortment of random letters, followed by the last letter of a word. For example the word letter would be "Lyuinr" and so on. The code relied entirely on his memory of what he had written, and would therefore be impossible to decipher. At least completely. No doubt Sherlock would figure most of it out before too long.

He laid his head against the hard floor and closed his eyes, wishing, more than ever, that he were human, if only so that he could turn the stupid door handle. If only he could open the door and surprise Sherlock and John. Oh, to see the look on their faces.

Before he dozed off for the second time that day, it occurred to him to wonder about the fate of the man from the book he had read so long ago about being turned into a vermin.

"_I think he died_." Jim thought with a hollow echo. "_Either that or his family killed him_."

He picked himself up, returned to the cozy nest he had made earlier on the bed and curled up in his sanctuary, stroking his tail absently with his paw.

It occurred to him to attempt to pull on his tail to see what would happen, he yelped in pain and surprise, then wearily laid his head against the soft fold of the sheet and fell asleep.


	51. Chapter 50

**50 Chapters! Wow! It would be a bit more impressive if the chapters had any perceivable length but... Any suggestions for a special chapter, just for fans? Reveiw with your idea, otherwise I'll have to wrap up the plot... Duh duh duuuuuuuhn.**

* * *

The door to 221b slammed shut and the door to Sherlock's room swung open, stunning Jim with a waterfall of light.

"You can come out now." John said patiently.

Jim was reminded of a prison warden as he lumbered out of the room carrying his tired body like a heavy sack. He glared up at John for a moment, daring him to speak, but John simply looked down at him blankly.

Jim pondered this for all of two seconds before he smelled something amazing radiating from the kitchen. He ran, suddenly brimming with energy, as fast as he could and found to his amazement four strips of bacon, set out on a small china plate on the floor near the fridge.

He stared at it in blank amazement. "_It couldn't be for me…could it_?" he thought wildly for a moment, wondering if he should partake, or if John and Sherlock were cruel enough to poison him with food.

His stomach growled. Well, growled is a light word for it. His stomach screamed would be more appropriate. Jim decided poison or no, he'd gone for too many hours without food to pass up bacon when it landed right in front of him.

Besides, if his life from that point on was to be the life of a cat, he'd rather end it.


	52. Chapter 51

When he had finished the platter his attention turned to the small cat-area that the boys had set up to appease Mrs. Hudson. It was just a little corner of the kitchen complete with a bowl of cat food (yuck) some water, and an unused cat-litter box.

Even as a cat, he could still use the human bathroom fairly well, but for some reason the sight of a litter box, full of carbon sand, seemed to awaken a mischievous vein in him that had been largely sleeping due to his misery.

He jumped inside, and almost jumped straight out when he felt the sand crunching between his toes, but he swallowed his disgust and dug deeper with his forepaws into the gray and white mounds. With a deft motion he kicked a small rainfall of litter onto the kitchen floor with his hind legs.


	53. Chapter 52

**So, I went back and read my own fanfiction, and realized that I had gotten all of the chapters all mixed up, SORRY! It should be all fixed now, but if something doesn't make sense p****_lease_**** tell me! I worked to hard on this story, it would be a shame for it to be ruined for everyone just because I dumbly switched the chapters around :(**

* * *

So began the game: he would create a small mountain of litter with his forepaws, and kick it onto the floor with his hind paws, and all before John Watson noticed.

He worked himself into a frenzy, huffing and puffing as he sent great grey plumes of powdered carbon into the air he was snorting. His heart raced indeterminately to its own beat, harmonizing with the occasional grunt.

When Jim had emptied the box of all but a small mound of litter he looked up and caught the gazing eye of John Watson, looking down on his mildly.


	54. Chapter 53

When John noticed that he had been noticed he smiled warmly.

"Having fun?" He asked.

Jim looked from his mess to John, feeling lost. The litter was all over the floor. It spread all through the kitchen, even to the refrigerator on the other side.

"_You're not mad?"_ Jim meowed feebly, feeling those tears of frustration well up as he panted away his exhaustion.

John chuckled lightly and went to find a broom.

* * *

**So much respect for John.**

**Sherlock walks into the room covered in blood: "You went on the tube like that?"**


	55. Chapter 54

John pushed Jim with the head of the broom until he was sufficiently out of the way, and then started sweeping unaffectedly.

"You forget I _live_ with Sherlock Holmes." He said "This is nothing."

Jim pouted at his legs, watching the litter he had scattered being collected into neat, organized piles hatefully.

He crouched down, letting some of his cat instincts take over and with one swift bound he smashed into the litter, sending it flying everywhere.

* * *

**Of course he did. Stupid cat. **

**P.S: This Fanfiction has hit 10,000 veiws! Wow!**


	56. Chapter 55

"Hey!" John protested with alarm.

Jim heard him, and decided to attempt to spread as much litter as he could before John lost his patience.

And so the game began anew: Jim rolled and flailed in the mounds of litter sending it scattering and skittering across the floor while John tried to contain the gray dust to the kitchen only. Jim kicked with his legs and made lop-sided snow angels and rolled over and over the flattened mountains on his back. Every now and again he felt the gentle bristles of John's broom scratch past him, but it was never too rough, nor did it seem to impede his play.

* * *

** would not let me upload my chapters yesterday and it also deleted my story. There is no word for the anger I feel, so here's the chapter. :)**


	57. Chapter 56

**When it's anything other than your hand, a cat attacking something is cute.**

* * *

He rolled into a proper position when he heard John start to laugh again.

"You're covered in gray." He laughed pushing the litter into a dustpan with one graceful sweeping motion.

Jim looked down and saw that his lovely black fur, that sleek shiny coat was mottled with dust and clumps of gray ashy litter. He looked like a gray cat.

He growled meanly, frustrated at himself for not being careful with his appearance when John's broom gave him another tender nudge.

In a flash he whipped himself around and sank his teeth into the straws, claws flailing and digging into the bristles angrily. The black fibers made crunching noises beneath his teeth.


	58. Chapter 57

"Come on now, that's less than dignified, don't you think?" John said trying to pull the broom away with a few tentative yanks.

Jim finally let go, but reluctantly. He picked himself up and quickly sped off to the living room, evil thoughts finally beginning to machinate in his brain. With one swift, almost seamless motion he leapt into Sherlock's chair and flopped onto his side, rolling around and spreading the litter into the fibers of the seat.

"No no no no no!" John said running over to hurriedly scoop Jim from his soiled perch. Jim grinned as he was tossed onto the floor, seeing hundreds of potential victim sites. In a flash he had recovered and began to attack the carpet.


	59. Chapter 58

John vanished into the kitchen, reappearing seconds later with a damp dishcloth.

Suddenly playtime was over.

Jim righted himself, standing defiantly towards John, who held the hated object in his clutches, capable of unspeakable discomfort.

Jim paused to revel in the fact that he suddenly found himself in possession of an irrational fear of being wet. Hopefully (and probably) another cat thing.


	60. Chapter 59

"_What do you think you're going to do with that?" _Jim meowed quietly.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty."

"_Like that's ever going to work."_ Jim growled.

John took one cautious step forward. Jim took one cautious step back. The battle of wills had begun.

"You can't run around here covered in dirt." John said holding his rag up to keep it from dripping.

"_Evidence supports the contrary." _Jim meowed, blandly.

"It'll only take a minute to get you nice and clean."

"_It'll take less than a second for you to put the rag down."_ Jim said, tracing the imaginary trail from the rag to the floor, just in case John didn't understand what he was implying.

"I'll not let you alone until you're litter free."

"_That's inferring that you _can _catch me."_ Jim said. "Can _you?"_


	61. Chapter 60

John knelt down. The rag dripped on the floor.

"Look at yourself, you're running around our house covered in _litter_. That's like, if you were human, running around covered in toilet paper."

Jim felt a sting to his pride, which he thought had been killed and thus incapable of anymore pain. He was wrong. John was _right._ What was he _doing_? He was acting like a mangy cat. Like a _real_ mangy cat. He was acting like a fool.

With his head down Jim crept over to John.


	62. Chapter 61

John put his hand on Jim's neck. It was ice cold and wet and sent his back into fits of twitches and goose pimples.

As soon as John reached for the wash rag, Jim changed his mind and ran blindly into the flat, leaving a gray trail of dust in his wake.

"Fine!" John said bitterly "Do it yourself then!" he picked up the rag and threw it after Jim in vain.

* * *

**:) I'm back, with my too short chapters and what-not.**


	63. Oops, I did it again

**This is my third mistake in the order of the chapters and I just want you all to know I am not crazy. Absent minded, yes, but not crazy. I will now, with the addition of this chapter go and re-read the whole story just as every one reads it on to make sure that I ****only ****made three mistakes. I apologize again, I know how much inconsistancies detract from the reading experience. Thank you for sticking with Jim's Cat Tale, even through the dfficulties.**

* * *

Doing it himself was exactly what was on Jim's mind. He'd already been to the bathroom and had seen the shower; it had two shiny chrome dials that he felt he could turn even with his cat paws. Bathing would be a synch!

The bathroom of 221b was tiny, with the toilet hopelessly crammed against the sink, fighting for elbowroom with the nearby shower. Jim knew it was tiny because everything seemed just his size.

He jumped onto the toilet, careful to edge around the rim, and used that leverage to jump and grab the dial, hopefully the hot water dial.


	64. Chapter 63

The rush of churning water shocked and frightened him, but he bit his paw and reminded himself that fear of water was a cat thing. The gurgling, frothing torrent of steamy water screaming past him was something he'd been accustomed to everyday.

And just like that he felt silly for being afraid and boldly jumped into the rush of pelting water.

Thinking about water and being _in_ water were two different things, and Jim bravely riveted himself in place as the bullets of rain did the bathing job for him, washing away the litter and hopelessly clogging the drain with it.

When the water began to pool around his ankles, he decided he'd had enough of the bathing adventure and leapt out of the shower, splashing the floor with the excess water. He jumped onto the toilet and onto the faucet, and by cleverly clinging to the dial he managed to turn it in the opposite direction.

Jim slipped off into the water, and then back out of the shower sliding on the water he'd splashed the first time. He was becoming cold.

Luckily the ignorant flat mates had a lovely towel rack, who's hanging white beauties were just within Jim's reach. With one titanic leap, Jim scaled the wall and clung to the towels with his claws, pulling them both down on top of him.


	65. Chapter 64

Then came the fun part: drying off.

Jim settled beneath the towels as he would have settled beneath a pair of sheets and began to roll, and knead, and move, and shimmy under the towels generally having fun until he felt he was quasi-dry.

He emerged from his cocoon of white and surveyed his handiwork proudly. The bathroom was an unparalleled disaster: water on the floor, gray cat-prints on the toilet, litter in th shower, and wet cat-prints on the walls.

All in all a good shower. He certainly felt refreshed.


	66. Chapter 65

John waited for him a few feet from the bathroom door, anxiousness spread across his face.

"_Hello Johnny-boy."_ Jim meowed pleasantly.

John stepped over him and surveyed the bathroom, biting his lip, turning to glance at Jim, then surveying the room again. He seemed momentarily at a loss. It made Jim feel good to be alive.

John brought his hand up to his eyes and hid them there while Jim decided to find a good place to sleep.

"_My!"_ He thought, "_Cat's certainly do a lot of sleeping, don't they…we."_

He jumped into Sherlock's chair and prepared to lay down by turning once…twice… but his progress was arrested on the third turn by John suddenly grabbing him beneath the armpits and hoisting him up.

"No you don't." he said, carrying Jim like a bomb, firmly, but gently.

"_Ow, this hurts!"_ Jim meowed pitifully, gasping for air. His paws were forced to fan out in front of him, as though his arms outreached for some great hug, though the rest of his body hung limp.

John walked Jim to the door of the flat and kicked it open with his foot. For one brief, glorious moment, Jim thought he was going to be booted out onto Baker Street and left to his own devices.

"Oh Mrs. Hudson?" John cried at the foot of the stairs.


	67. Chapter 66

All of Jim's hopes collapsed like all of Jim's cakes. The door downstairs opened and Jim could hear the horrible clicking of those monstrous heels coming for him up the stairs.

"Yes dear?"

"Could you watch him for me please?" John said bouncing Jim slightly. "He's made a mess and I've only just gotten him clean, I still need to finish the flat and he's in my way."

"_Diabolical!"_ Jim exclaimed in awe. He might actually be impressed with John, if it weren't for the horror coming up the stairs to meet him, red talons outstretched.

"Oh, I'd love to sit the kitty." She said gathering Jim comfortably in the folds of her blouse.


	68. Chapter 67

Jim breathed the scent of floral perfume deeply, stretched his abused arms and meowed once: "_I'm in hell!"_

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson, you're a life saver." John said appreciatively, and a little bit proudly.

"Just this once dearie; Remember…"

"You're our landlady, not our housekeeper. Right." John nodded, still smiling.

Mrs. Hudson took Jim to her flat and placed him down on the table, which he hid under immediately.

"Now come on kitty, who else am I going to share this chicken with?" She said opening the icebox.

This gave Jim sufficient pause, since he was still hungry after the bacon. He slunk out from beneath the table to check that there actually _was_ chicken, and this was not some ploy. He saw Mrs. Hudson remove a large platter from her fridge.


	69. Chapter 68

She smiled winningly and picked a limp bit of cold chicken up in her fingers and dangled it in front of Jim.

He thought for a moment, how much of his dwindling dignity would he loose if he ate from her hand? But his gnawing stomach spoke temporarily for his brain. He took the chicken in his sharp jaws and nearly swallowed it whole.

"Good kitty." Mrs. Hudson cooed. She offered him another piece.

"_Listen lady, oh, thank you. You're nice… that is, I _don't_ not like you… but you're got to stop all of _this_. All of this _cooing_ nonsense. It makes you seem somewhat daft. Understand_?"

"Good kitty kitty kitty, good kitty kitty kitty." Mrs. Hudson oozed.

Jim rolled his eyes and took another piece of chicken. "_Oh forget it. Give me that."_

* * *

**_Sorry! Testing in the library! All chapters late!_**


	70. Chapter 69

Between the two of them they finished the platter. Mrs. Hudson offered Jim the chicken bones, but he politely refused by rolling his eye, turning around and storming out of the room.

"John, are you done up there?" Mrs. Hudson called up.

"Just about." John said cheerfully. Jim could tell he had something planed for him, he just knew it.

"_Yes, we're all just calling each other and being neighborly. Bleack." _Jim meowed. The only word that Mrs. Hudson understood was '_Bleack'._

"Oh kitty. She said stroking his back soothingly. "Did the chicken make you sick?"

_"What, no, what're you talking about?"_ Jim said, easing up to her petting.

Mrs. Hudson scooped Jim up into her coddling grasp and rocked him tenderly to his unmitigated horror.

"Oh, poor baby." She wailed softly.

"_Listen Lady!" _Jim said, shoving her away with his paws, trying to keep his claws from extracting. _"There's this nifty new invention called: Personal space! Learn about it!"_


	71. Chapter 70

The doorbell rang.

Mrs. Hudson looked away, and Jim looked up. Someone had arrived.

Mrs. Hudson gently put Jim down, Jim thought carefully about what he would do if he were to run into the streets, but the prevalence of dogs, cars, and people made him think twice about trying to dart in between her legs again.

She opened the door and a rush of hot air blew in to the flat. Jim sat down on the bottom stair and waited, curious.

"Oh, I'm sorry… is this the residence of that detective guy?" A man said, his voice trembling.

Jim arched his eyebrows with interest. A client. He'd always heard of Sherlock's clients, heck, he'd necessitated some of Sherlock's clients, but he'd never heard the actual interview part of the process. It would be interesting to see how Sherlock got all of his work. He'd always imagined it would look like.

"Yes it is. I'm afraid he's not in just now though. If you'll come back later…" Mrs. Hudson began to close the door, but a man's boot blocked the door swiftly.

"I'm sorry, but can I just wait for him here, if you don't mind…? It's a bit of an emergency.


	72. Chapter 71

The man at the door broke and began to panic. "Please, just let me give my case, and if there's nothing to it, then I won't be the worse off! I need help! He was my friend, and they've taken him, and I don't know what to do!"

Her cold expression melted. It appeared as though his distress was legitimate, even though his story was not.

"I'll check with John to see if you can come in dearie, don't fret."

"_You'll ruin the carpet."_ Jim finished starchily, laughing to himself.

Mrs. Hudson climbed the stairs and invited the man into her home. He shut the door and glanced around, passing over Jim once with his roving, suspicious eyes.

Jim took one good look at him and fell over, stunned.

Mrs. Hudson called down the stairs that it was safe to come up and the man chuckled and started to climb the stairs. Jim attempted to follow, but climbing the stairs for a cat involves stretching ones entire body repeatedly and basically doing squats while hoisting oneself up each step. It was tiresome and uncomfortable, and nearly impossible with a full stomach, but Jim managed after a minute to get the rhythm of the thing down, but not until after Mrs. Hudson had closed the door and started downstairs herself.


	73. Chapter 72

Once again, Jim was faced with the mute, apathetic intimidation of a closed door, that iconic symbol of hopelessness. He sat for a minute, listening to the easy conversation inside, thinking. How to open the door?

The doorknob was out of the question. He could just reach it using his new-found jumping abilities, but unless he discovered some thumb-abilities he couldn't turn it.

"_John, if you can hear me I hate you and I hate everything you love. I'm going to kill you one day, and burn Sherlock."_ Jim raged.

Form inside, he heard: "Oh, the cat's meowing at the door."

"I'll let him in." John responded opening the door and grudgingly accepting Jim, who happily trotted inside.


	74. Chapter 74

Turning to the potential client, John said: "Would you like some tea? Please, sit down."

The potential client almost snickered, but quickly saved himself by turning it into a cough.

"Thanks mate." He said falling into the nearest chair.

John nodded and went into the kitchen, where a pot of tea was already boiling. From there he proceeded to talk, unaware that he wasn't being listened to.

"I'm sorry about the wait, but Sherlock should be back relatively soon, he only stepped out for a few minutes. Clearly this is a bit outside our consulting hours, but if it's important enough, and interesting enough, Sherlock won't mind."

"Hmm."


	75. Chapter 75

Jim sat close to the client, his tail wagging independently of his mood.

"_Hi there."_ He said staring at the man, who shrugged and hunched in the wooden chair he'd taken.

The man looked uncomfortable. He had the feeling he was being watched, but did not understand that that feeling was coming from the cat.

"I really need the detective's help, and I need it _yesterday!_" The man said, deciding the discomfort could only have come from the awkward silence in the flat as the tea bubbled happily.

"I see." John said unaffectedly.

"I mean, I walk in to his flat _and he's gone!_" the man said miserably.

"Did he have any enemies?" John said casually emerging from the kitchen with two cups of tea. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Black, thank you." The man said taking one cup from John and blowing into it pensively.

"_It's tea. Not coffee, tea. Idiot."_ Jim meowed.

"Sure, plenty." The man said mildly. "But then again we all do, don't we?"

Jim could tell by John's expression that he was thinking _No, we don't_ but he just nodded and quietly sipped his steaming cuppa.


	76. Chapter 76

"I mean, it's clearly foul play. No matter how you look at it!" The man picked up again passionately.

John kept his expression neutral. "How so?" He said in his best psychiatrist-impression.

"Well, he arranged to meet me that morning." The man actually started counting reasons on his fingers, as though he needed to keep track. "But he never showed, clearly. I went to his apartment and the door was open, when it's usually shut up tighter than a bank vault and all of his things were still inside!"

* * *

**It does not take a great detective to see where this is going.**


	77. Chapter 77

**Climax! Climax! Look! Look! We did it! We made it!**

* * *

He flung himself out of his chair and began pacing furiously. John continued to swirl and sip his tea mildly, though the expression he wore showed he expected the man was telling at least a partial lie. Something had alerted him to the danger in the man's manner.

"It just makes me so angry!" The man cried out. "How could they do this to my friend?"

"You say _they_, do you know who it is that might have targeted him?" John seized on his chance to solicit _actual_ information from the rambling man.

The man's response was so low and quiet; Jim almost missed it with his cat ears. "Yeah, I do."

John waited for him to elaborate, but he never did, so he returned to his cuppa and tried to make the conversation easier and less painful to sit through.

"So, um…" John took another thoughtful sip of his tea and placed the empty cup onto a precarious stack of newspapers. "I…I don't think I caught your name?"

"You didn't." he said in the same low, dangerous growl.

John waited for the name, but it too never came. He glanced at Sherlock's desk, buried under boxes and papers of close to five-hundred cases both international and small. In one of the drawers (although come to think of it he couldn't remember which one) was Sherlock's little pistol, used in extreme emergencies or when John hid his Browning from him.

"I'll tell you my friend's name though, that should move things along, if you like." The man said as John crept up and started edging his way towards the desk.

"Yes, that would be very helpful… very helpful indeed." John said passing the man and hopefully scuttling his way out of the danger zone.

No such luck. With a below and a swift leap the man jumped the distance between John and himself and had seized the doctor's throat with one meaty paw, twisting his head while kicking out his knee and sending him crashing to the carpeted floor.

"Jim Moriarty." Said Sebastian Moran, grinning his feral smile with his white fangs gleaming in the dull light of the flat.

"_Oh boy."_ Jim said, realizing his rescue was, from that point on, botched.


	78. Chapter 78

Jim sat on John, thinking as usual. Sebastian had bound him using zip-ties leaving him immobile and irritable. He'd tried to shake off the unassuming feline three times.

"_Stop wriggling."_ Jim snapped. "_I can still claw you."_

To prove his point Jim flexed his paw and extended his retracted claws until they punctured John's thick jacket.

In response the doctor twisted quickly, pulling against his bonds and tossing the cat to the floor again.

"_I said stop it!" _Jim hissed.

John moaned softly. In lieu of a legitimate gag Sebastian had picked up a nearby sock and shoved in into his mouth with a quiet oath that if John made any noise louder than the cat's meow, he would go downstairs for Mrs. Hudson.

Jim seethed silently, preparing like a volcano to erupt, boiling with indignity and raging at the unfairness of the set up.

"_I'm RIGHT HERE!"_ he screamed as Sebastian bounded across the room tearing through the mess in the flat searching for any clue that would point him to Jim's location.

"_Hel-looo? Moron? Moran? I'M RIGHT HERE!"_

"Shut up cat." he snapped sullenly.


	79. Chapter 79

**Well, here's the rescuer. If only he knew what he was rescuing.**

* * *

Jim sat down and licked his paw furiously. John and Mrs. Hudson hadn't been terrible to him, Sherlock had. Why wasn't Sherlock being made to pay? Why was his best man so incompetent? Why was he a cat in the first place?

"A-ha!" Sebastian said as he lit upon John's laptop.

Jim suddenly had a very good idea. His best in quite a few hours.

Sebastian clicked on the keyboard for a few moments, but the computer was password protected. He swore and oath as Jim crept up beside his leg and tossed the light laptop onto the couch.

He stood up and strode over to where John lay, helpless and frightened preparing to intimidate (or beat) the password out of him, but before he could touch the man, the computer chimed its welcome melody signifying that it had made it to the desktop page.


	80. Chapter 80

**Get off my computer stupid cat. -90% of the population.**

**Gee, That was lucky. - 9% of the populaton.**

**OMG it's my boss! - Sebastian Moran.**

* * *

He glanced up in disbelief at the cat sitting next to the open keyboard, tail flicking proudly. He ignored his prisoner and slunk back to the couch, curious and mildly skeptical.

"Meow!" The cat said in greeting as he sat behind it, glancing at the laptop quizzically.

He reached out to click on an icon and the cat put one stern paw on his hand.

"Meoh!" it said, which sounded humorously like "No!"

Sebastian decided to let the cat do what it wanted for a moment, since it was a novel cat trick after all, but to take back the laptop after a minute. After all, this was a crime in process.

The cat took the touch screen and steered the mouse to the Word document icon. He clicked it while emitting a horribly frightening throaty yowl.

"Meeeeeooowwrrrraaaaannnnn!"

Sebastian jumped. "What did you say?"

The cat turned and stared pointedly at the sniper. "Meeeeeooowwrrrraaaaaannnn!"

Sebastian stared blankly. He had definitely heard "Moran." He had surely certainly and definitely heard "Moran."

"What?"

The cat appeared disgusted and turned to the computer, beginning to _type._ Sebastian put his hands up to his head and tentatively questioned his sanity. He looked up to see what the cat had written.

I am Jim Moriarty.


	81. Chapter 81

He gawked for a moment, at a loss for thoughts or words. He blinked twice, hoping to wash away the delusional message in favor of a real one, which should look like gibberish.

"This is… uh… a neat pet trick."

The cat immediately lit on his words and started typing again.

Not as neat as the spider with the cotton candy nest.

Sebastian swore loudly and with feeling. "It _is_ you!" he said.

"Of course it is me idiot. On the table beside the fireplace are the papers Holmes took from my desk. Recover them immediately."

Sebastian swiftly, sheepishly ran over to the small, cluttered table and began gathering papers in bundles and shoving them haphazardly into his jacket.

"But I don't understand; why're you a cat?" he asked returning loyally to the cat, crouching to see eye-to-eye with the feline, who began typing madly across the keyboard.

"Do not know. They've transformed me somehow. Been a prisoner all day, no information as of yet."

"You don't know how I can maybe change you back?"

"No. No information regarding transformation at all."

Sebastian's eyes roved the floor until they lighted on John Watson, curled where he had fallen. He turned to Jim, who shrugged as best a cat could.

"No murder today." He typed, but John couldn't see it. He only saw the boxing of Sebastian's shoulders as he stalked over to him, grabbing his jacket and hoisting him up mightily onto the wooden chair.


	82. Chapter 82

He bleated with horror as Sebastian rooted around his mouth with one finger and pulled out the sock, but before he could get enough air to scream, Moran seized his chin and squeezed his face.

"Looky here, here's how this's gonna go: I'm going to ask a question and you're going to _whisper_ the answer. And don't even _think_ about lying. Understand?"

John nodded as best he could as Sebastian worked his hand around John's ear, preparing for the neck-snapping grip.

"Did you turn Jim into a cat?"

"Yes." John stuttered.

"Can you change him back?"

"Yes." John gasped as one hand clenched the back of his neck and his blood ran to ice.

"How?" Sebastian demanded giving him a motivational shake.

"Sherlock… he already did." John said with difficulty. Sebastian squeezing his face wasn't making talking any easier.

"He told me… make food with this…potion thingy. So I fried bacon in it… He'll be human by morning."

"Well isn't that convenient?" Sebastian growled.

"It's true I swear." John said twisting away from the powerful grip on his vertebrae, praying for a miracle, hoping his neck wasn't to be snapped that night. He had a coffee date the next morning with the curly-haired nurse from the intensive care unit.

"Meow." Jim cut in and Sebastian dropped John, who sagged in the chair, drained and on the verge of emotional collapse.

"What?" Sebastian asked, the papers rustling beneath his coat.

"Take me home."

"What, now?" he asked.

The cat nodded in the affirmative.

"Alright. Can I carry you?"

"I'd be delighted."


	83. Chapter 83

**Thank you loyal readers and fans of Cat!Jim! _Jim's Cat Tale_ has just hit 20,000 veiws! :D You can't see me dancing, but I want you to know that I am! Meow Meow! Whoop whoop!**

**In apreciation for your readership, I would like to open an oppertunity: Review with an idea for a spin-off and I will write anything in the Cat!Jim AU. It could be Hedgehog!John, or Otter!Sherlock, or Marmoset!Sebastian, it could even be Batman!Mycroft, I'm not picky.**

**Just remember, this spin off won't be written until after the last chapters of _Jim's Cat Tale_, and will probably be much, much, much, much shorter. Like maybe ten chapters max.**

* * *

Before Sebastian left, he stuck the sock back into John's mouth and found its pair, making a proper gag to buy them some time to put distance between 221b and them. Jim crawled up onto Sebastian's shoulder and was cradled tenderly down the stairs where he heard Mrs. Hudson rattling dishware in the kitchen they'd shared chicken in.

Out on the streets Jim realized how dark it had become, how late it must have been and how long it had been since he'd been human. He shuddered slightly against Sebastian's neck.

He imagined, as the cab Sebastian had hailed pulled away, that the cab which had pulled up directly behind them was Sherlock's. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it was so.

He spent the quiet car trip riding comfortably beneath the crook of Sebastian's elbow counting streetlights. He lost count at forty-two and nodded off drearily.

Only Sebastian leaning forward to pay the driver made him realize he had fallen asleep at all, and he remained still, hoping that his black fur would help him camouflage in the dark car. It worked and the cab driver didn't notice a thing.


	84. Chapter 84

Once in the flat, his home, Sebastian dropped him onto the floor and retrieved his laptop, opening it for him and placing it on the floor.

"Are you hungry?" He asked as it loaded. "One for yes, two for no."

"Meow."

"Alright, what do you want…Chicken?"

"Meow, meow."

"Alright. Fish?"

"Meow."

"Alright."

They had a light meal of some salmon Jim had put in the refrigerator a few hours before his abduction. Sebastian was silent, and Jim couldn't talk, but it was a warm happy meal anyway. When he was done Jim walked over and pointed at the door. Even without the laptop translator, Sebastian knew what he wanted.

He opened the door for Jim, who trotted happily into the cool crisp darkness.

* * *

**No...it can't end...NOT YET! T-T don't know what I'd do without my kitty Jimmy absorbing my every waking thoughts. I'd have to get ****_normal!_**


	85. Chapter 85

It had been a long day, and he would be human again by morning. There was much to look forward to, much to be anxious about.

Would he remember his time as a cat, or would it be like those cheesy television shows where the actual memory is gone, but the lessons learnt remained.

What if John was lying? He'd done it before, only not to him. What if Sherlock had been lying when he'd told John? What if frying bacon didn't count?

The stars winked weakly as they emerged from a veil of clouds, choked by the city lights. Jim counted sixty-eight stars and shivered with loneliness. Sebastian was sitting on the stairs of his building less than four feet away, but he was still lonely.

"Grrrrr." Jim was caught utterly by sickly surprise when he heard a deep, throaty growl coming from his right and he turned to find that he was less than ten feet from a monstrous hound.

He looked at the mutt disdainfully before remembering who, and what he was, which gave the dog time to slink into attacking position.

Jim screamed and made a beeline for his apartment door before forgetting that he didn't have thumbs He threw himself against the wood, clawing manically at the door as the hound barreled towards him, fangs bared and black eyes shimmering with blood lust.


	86. Chapter 86

**I wanted to do more with this idea, it just never had a chance to manifest. :( Resolution= Regret.**

* * *

Jim turned, his claws extended to their full length, prepared to battle with the nightmare tooth and claw. His fur seemed to be tingling and his skin itched with fear. His body raced with adrenaline, breathing was less a necessity than a joy.

Centimeters away and the dog's hot steamy breath coursed into his face, around his nose and mouth. Moments to go before the final confrontation and Jim heard a voice, hushed and feral: "Kill, eat, mine, shake,"

He realized he could speak to other animals and cursed his time at Baker Street for robbing him of the chance to discover this amazing talent before he died. What an interesting story that would have been!

Jim prepared himself for impact, ready for the huge hairy flesh to collide with his own slight figure, crushing bone and tearing flesh, when the hound suddenly flew away from him with a pathetic howl of "Owwwow hurts my face!"

Jim looked up and Sebastian scooped him up quickly, before the dog got its chance to recover.

In a flash the dog was back on its prey, with snapping barks of "Mine, mine, mine! Wanna shake, shake shaaaaaaaake it!"

Sebastian placed another kick squarely beneath the mutt's jaw and sent the yelping thing away with a few curses for good measure. Jim clutched onto Sebastian's jacket, not realizing his claws were still extended, or that his fur was standing on end.

Sebastian opened the door and slid inside the apartment, cradling Jim cautiously. He wanted to laugh out loud, but doubted his boss would forget such a slight, even after he became human. In truth, Jim just looked like an enormous hairball, he was adorable, and he begged to be touched and petted and coddled.

Luckily Sebastian was neither a coddler nor a cat person. He was immune to the impulses of his weaker instincts.


	87. Chapter 87

He dropped Jim onto the sofa and let him lie down while he started up his own laptop. When it was up he opened another word document and offered it to his shaken, yet oddly still boss.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?" he asked.

Meagerly, Jim raised a paw and tapped out his response.

"No,"

Sebastian tried again, increasingly worried. "Are you tired, or thirsty, did he hurt you?"

"No,"

Sebastian felt that something was terribly wrong, but Jim knew that something was terribly, terribly right.

Because as Sebastian had slunk inside the apartment, Jim had developed an agonizing headache.

"I must sleep now," Jim typed. Sebastian obligingly lifted him and delivered him to his own bedroom where he crawled beneath the sheets, curled up and nodded off.

Sebastian slipped away to sleep on the sofa.


	88. Chapter 88

As Jim slept, he had a dream, a dream that was a memory that had haunted him throughout his interment at Baker Street. He was a child, and he'd wandered off into the thick forested woods of a park and become confused and lost.

That was all, he ran for hours through trees and branches and roots, calling out for help or guidance. Every shadow was a monster, every tree a maniac.

When he finally found his way to the parking lot, he found no cars there. His family had left him there.

He was pensive throughout the ordeal when it had happened. He had thought nothing of it.

But this dream had a startling new feature which transformed the memory into a nightmare.

Someone _was_ following him.

There _was_ a maniac in the trees.

When he called out for help, he screamed for somebody. There was a thrill of terror that had never colored his dreams before, and now dyed his every action with panic and urgency.

He had the sense that he wasn't running, he was _falling_ into a labyrinth. He was being lead deeper and deeper into the arms of the person following him. He could see the black eyes glinting from the shadows, hear the crunch of footsteps echoing his. The breathing of the forest mingled with the breathing of his follower froze the breath in his own chest.

When he reached the parking lot and no one was there he allowed himself to weep for the first time, tears of frustration at the unfairness of Sherlock and of his father and of being ignored by Mycroft and belittled by John and Mrs. Hudson.

A stern pair of hands seized his shoulders and spun him around and he found himself face-to-face with a man.

* * *

**I did allude to this once in an earlier chapter, and I'm very proud of that. It's not completely tacked on. It was right after Sherlock threw him in his room for the first time.**


	89. Chapter 89

He screamed, and awoke gasping, bolt-upright in his bed. His face felt clammy and wet from crying. He leaned back and felt a puddle on his pillow.

He touched his face and sighed, wiping away the tears and the sweat with his palm.

He paused.

He touched his face again, exploring his hand and face curiously.

Thumb.

Nose.

Fingernails.

Lips.

Skin.

Human.


	90. Chapter 90

He kicked with his legs and found that they were long and bipedal, with oblong, flat feet and his blanket fluttered off into a corner.

He almost whooped with delight, but decided upon another test.

He lifted one trembling hand to his lips and said quietly "The swift gray fox jumps over the lazy dog."

He said it, no meowing.

Then he whooped with joy.

He jumped out of bed and stumbled. It would take him a few minutes to understand how to walk on two legs again.


	91. Chapter 91

He staggered towards the kitchen and using his new found-thumb abilities got himself a glass of icy water. He took two sips and then staggered back to the sitting room where his beloved sniper/rescuer slept impatiently awaiting the news of his transformation.

In lieu of an answer, Jim dumped his water on him.

Sebastian awoke sputtering and in a state of panic.

"Get up lazy bones, we've got lots to do, and it all starts today," Jim said haughtily.

"Oh, good, you're human," Sebastian said, spitting out the water dribbling down into his mouth.

"We need to ransack The top secret government research facility. Get dressed."

Sebastian looked Jim up, and then down. Smiling he quipped "I could say the same to you."

Jim looked down and realized that with humanity, he lost some of his freedoms, namely the fur coat.

"Of course I'm going as I am," Jim shrugged. "Someone has to seduce the guard."

"Of course," Sebastian said, still grinning. "Now when you say _The_ top secret government research facility, you mean—"

"_Baskerville_ top secret Government research facility," Jim said sitting cross-legged on Sebastian's sofa. "I plan, from this day forward to turn John Watson into a hedgehog and Sherlock Holmes into an otter."

Sebastian allowed himself a moment to let this compute, and then responded with his stock response: "Why?"

"He just looks like a hedgehog," Jim said carelessly. "I can't exactly describe it, it might be the jumpers, but when I see a hedgehog, I think of John Watson, and when I see John Watson, I think of a hedgehog."

"And the otter?"

"Just me being random; otters are tall and have the same pointed face as Holmes, I suppose."

"Why?"

"Hydrodynamic design. You see, otters are semi-aquatic, they swim—"

"No, why do you want to turn them into animals?"

"Revenge," Jim said pointedly. "Pure and simple,"

"Because they turned you into a cat?"

"Yes,"

"And they have research like that at Baskerville?"

"Probably,"

Sebastian dug a crumpled cigarette out of his pants and hunted around for his lighter.

"This is going to get so much weirder than all of your previous evil plans. Isn't it?" he said mildly.

"Yes!" Jim said emphatically.

"If you turn John Watson into a hedgehog and Sherlock Holmes into an otter, you're going to have to feed them. Transforming your enemies into animals is a big responsibility."

"I know, I know; but I can handle it!" Jim whined.

Sebastian finally got his cigarette lighted, and looked over Jim doubtfully.

"Alright."

"Whoopee!" Jim cried.

"I salvaged some of your clothes from the police raid on your apartment, go put them on." He said paternally.

"You bet!" Jim said practically skipping nude down the hallway.

Sebastian sucked on his cigarette and tried to knead the ache out of his forehead. He'd woken up a few hours before for a light snack and hadn't felt quite right since then.

He scratched his hand and groaned, he'd only poured himself a glass of milk.

* * *

**Tah-dah!** **Th-th-th-th-that's all folks! That's it, the end! Drive safe!**

**Okay, Thank you time! Thank you, yes you for reading this though. You didn't have to, which means you wanted to and that is the greatest compliment a writer can have! Thanks so much for the comments and ideas and everything! This would not have came even somewhat this far without you!**

**Thanks especially to Rose O' Sharon, C0ldSteel (sorry I couldn't have Jim wake up with Seb, I just couldn't swing it), Dark Magical Sorcres, TheMysteriousGeek2345 and phanpiggy for reviewing throughout this whole story, I really took your words to heart. :)**


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